Not Wanting Him
by The Goliath Beetle
Summary: Bones doesn't want to love Booth. She doesn't. But for some reason, she can't seem to help it...BB


**Not Wanting Him**

**A/N: I own nothing.**

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I threw back a swig of strong vodka. If I was lucky, I'd die of alcohol poisoning. I'd already finished half the bottle anyway. I looked around my bare apartment. It feels empty, somehow. Like the feeling when you move to a new home...It doesn't feel 'homey'. It feels like something is missing.

Booth just left.

The vodka seems to be taking effect. I'm becoming profound. I don't like profound. I've been living here for almost seven years now. It should, logically speaking, feel like home. Honestly, it really doesn't.

I should really stop with the drink. But, for some reason, I keep wanting more. I probably want to get the images of that murder out of my mind. It was really gruesome. And upsetting. A six-year-old girl was found stabbed to death in a river. The killer turned out to be her father's business rival, Bill Brown. Bill's motive was that he wanted to get back at the girl's father for outranking him. Sick.

An image of Booth flashed in my mind. Involuntarily, I found myself taking another sip of vodka.

Booth...

I hated him. I hated the way he was so sweet and caring. I hated the way he always looked out for me. I hated the way he flashed that stupid charm smile. I hated how he showed sympathy, and compassion when I needed it, and I hated the way he gave me my space when I wanted it. But most of all, I hated the way I can't stop thinking about him.

It's all his fault. Every free moment I have I spend absent-mindedly thinking about him. And when he with me, all I want to do is watch him. I can't concentrate on anything when he's around. It's just not logical!

God, the vodka is strong. I sound like a pathetic teenage girl.

I knew I didn't want him. I didn't want to love him. I just didn't. But for some reason, I just can't help it. He's the sweetest friend I've ever had. That includes Angela, even if I hate to admit it.

And I can't believe it. I'm ashamed of myself. I don't even want to fall in love. It's a stupid, irrational emotion that makes people do stupid, irrational things. And with Booth of all people. Seriously, shame on me.

The vodka bottle is down to its last quarter. I really should stop. I'm going to be having a killer hangover tomorrow anyway. I'm not in the mood to have my stomach pumped as well.

Another image of Booth slips into my head. I grasp the glass bottle and make my way to the kitchen. I'm feeling tipsy. I feel like crying.

_Damn it, Brennan! You should not drink so much, _I think. Without my consent, my eyes fill. I can't stop it.

Under normal circumstances, I could stop the waterworks. But right now, I can't. And I don't even know why I'm crying. That's very illogical. Booth's voice floats into my head again. I don't want to love him. It's not appropriate. It's not fair! He doesn't love me back.

More tears come. _Get a grip of yourself,_ my mind screams. I hear Booth again. I'm getting obsessed with his voice. I can't stand it. "Shut up Booth!" I yell. I'm losing control. I don't like that. Booth's voice stops.

Thank God. I don't think I can compartmentalize anymore. Not tonight. The bottle of vodka is still in my hand. "Bones? Are you okay?"

Damn you Booth! Go away! I shake my head to make his voice disappear. It doesn't work.

"Bones, open the door!" His voice is followed with a few loud thuds. Then I realise. He's outside. But why?

I stumble to the door and open it, simultaneously wiping my eyes.

"Bones, finally! I forgot my house keys here," says Booth. Then he looks at me. His voice grows concerned. "What's wrong?" he asks.

I stare at him blankly. I don't know how to answer that. I don't know what to say. I don't know why I feel so weird. Without thinking, I pull him into a tight hug.

I don't want to love him. I don't want to think about him all the time. I don't want to feel so happy and so sad at the same time, every time I look at him. But I can't help it. And I like it that way. Because I know my heart made the right choice (metaphorically speaking, the brain makes decisions), Booth will never hurt me.

And since the day he took that bullet for me, I've hated him.

I've hated him because he made me love him. And that sounds strange, but the truth is always stranger than fiction. His hands around me rub my back up and down. I pull away, and wait for the inevitable question. "Bones, hey, Bones, what's wrong?" he asks gently.

I wipe my eyes and steady my voice. "Booth," I say, leading him to the couch. "I want to talk to you about something important."

**A/N: Wow I didn't see myself actually writing that! Does the ending sound too abrupt? Leave a review! Thanks for reading. **


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